


All My Nightmares Escape My Head

by Arse_In_Arsenal



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Torture, flaying, is 'light flaying' an acceptable tag, that's a thing that happens, things are just going to get worse, uhhhh somewhat spoilers but, very briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 09:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arse_In_Arsenal/pseuds/Arse_In_Arsenal
Summary: The worst things he could have ever possibly imagined don't even come close to this.





	All My Nightmares Escape My Head

How one city could get so much goddamn rain, Jason doesn't know, but he swears half of these scumbags come to Gotham purely for the gloomy aesthetic.

 

It’s a fairly mild night, for once, but the quiet drizzle is just enough to make a night of crouching on rooftops and spying on bad guys damp and miserable. He’s been here for hours now, tracking the men going in and out of the warehouse adjacent to the one he’s camped out on, and he isn't planning on budging any time soon. He’s running solo on this one, Roy off in Star City helping out with some big important case that Oliver dragged him into, so he has to make sure he does this one right since he doesn't have backup -- no screw ups.

 

A particularly strong gust of wind tugs at Jason’s jacket, and with an annoyed huff he pulls it tighter around himself and glowers down at the warehouse. If he hadn’t caught wind of this big move going down tonight he could’ve been back at the safehouse by now, having a nice hot shower, unwinding a bit, maybe letting his thoughts wander to a particular redhead that’s been away just a bit too long… But no, he just _had_ to hear some creeps in a back alley whispering about it, and he couldn’t just _ignore_ something like that, so now here he is, cold and wet and pissed as all hell.

 

These guys aren't going to so much as _litter_ by the time he's through with them tonight.

 

“Careful, if you scowl much harder people might mistake you for Batman.”

 

Jason swears vehemently and has his gun leveled on the speaker’s face within a second, heart jumping into his throat at his own carelessness in allowing somebody to sneak up on him like that, he really isn’t on his game toni--

 

“What the _fuck_ , Harper!?”

 

Roy is grinning sheepishly at him, hands raised half-heartedly in front of him until Jason crams the gun back into its holster and runs a hand through his soaked hair, making it stick up in all sorts of directions. Roy is in full Arsenal gear, bow slung over his shoulder and water dripping down from the brim of his hat, and despite the fact Jason’s heart hasn’t quite returned to a normal pace yet, the sight of his partner chases away a bit of the cold that had settled into his bones. It was far from the first time they had split to work separate cases, but Jason could admit (with some reluctance) that he missed studying the spatters of freckles across Roy’s shoulders before he drifted off to sleep every night.

 

But he isn't about to let _Roy_ know that.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be running around Star right about now with Green Goatee? I was counting on having a few more days of peace and quiet at home.” There. Reputation as a hardened vigilante saved.

 

Roy settles himself down on the roof next to the helmet Jason discarded an hour ago, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out with a quiet groan. “Star City is all glitz and glam, I personally prefer Gotham’s grit and grime. Finished up early and figured I’d come surprise you.”

 

It’s not the entire truth -- Jason can tell from the set of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw that there’s more to that story, but now isn't the right time to press. Roy and Oliver’s relationship is still rocky at the best of times, and although Roy occasionally still agrees to give his old mentor a hand, he always comes back a little worse for wear. Maybe later, when they’re back at home with the rest of the world shut away for the night, Jason can get the full run-down from his partner.

 

Jason takes up the spot next to Roy on the roof, silently soaking in his presence for a few moments.

 

“How’d you even know where I was tonight? This one wasn’t exactly on the schedule.”

 

The only answer Roy gives him is a wink over a lopsided grin before he nods his head at the warehouse. “So what exactly are we staring at here anyway?”

 

Jason narrows his eyes at the dodge, but replies anyway.

 

“Apparently somebody’s moving a metric shit-ton of drugs out of here tonight. Been watching them for a while and it’s not any gang or cartel I’m familiar with. Possibly somebody new in town looking to get a piece of the pie.” He flicks his fingers at the large loading doors at the front of the building. “Only been seeing them using that entrance even though there’s another around the side. A couple of vans have come and gone, but I’ve only seen the muscle, not the product. Haven’t gotten an exact read on how many are still in the warehouse yet, but there’s been a few that stayed behind after the vans left.”

 

Roy nods, face settling into a serious expression as he focuses in on the building. “Did you already try using the thermal view in your helmet?”

 

Jason glowers down at the offending object, nudging it with his foot. “Fucker got a lucky hit in yesterday at just the right angle and the lenses have been fritzing out ever since. I…” Had been waiting for Roy to get home to fix it, honestly. “..Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

 

His eyes catch the way Roy’s lips quirk knowingly, but thankfully he doesn't call Jason out on it. “So… we go in guns blazing and hope we catch them by surprise?”

 

Jason smirks. “Now that you tagged along? Hell yes.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Getting into the warehouse undetected is laughably easy. The door on the side of the building opens to reveal a short hallway, lined with entrances to what look like tiny office spaces. A quick sweep of the rooms shows little more than a few dusty file cabinets and scattered papers -- most likely whoever is currently using this building hasn't even bothered with them.

 

Noise can be heard in the direction of the main bay, muffled voices and somebody barking out an indistinguishable order. The pair follow the sound to the door at the end of the hallway, and Jason takes a quick look out of the tiny window set into it. Though several tall shipping containers a short distance from the door block off most of the view, crates and boxes can be seen stacked haphazardly in the main bay, several toppled over onto the floor and spilling packing straw across the concrete.

 

“These guys have to be the sloppiest cartel I’ve ever seen,” Roy mutters, easing open the door after checking for alarms. There’s nobody in sight, allowing the pair to slip inside without alerting anybody to their presence as they press against the containers. Jason glances to the corners visible from his position, searching for cameras, but one is drooped to the floor while the other dangles precariously from its mount by a few wires.

 

“If this is where they’ve been storing everything up until now, why wouldn’t they even fix the security cameras?” Jason murmurs under his breath, slowly peering around one of the containers.

 

More crates, two more dead cameras, an abandoned forklift, and not a single person in sight.

 

Frowning, he gestures the all-clear to Roy and creeps around the crate, eyes searching for any flicker of movement between boxes in the dim lighting. Thermal lenses would be fucking _great_ right about now, if only they weren’t built into the currently useless helmet tucked under his arm. He had briefly considered leaving it back on the roof, but he couldn’t bear the thought of anybody else getting their grubby little hands all over his tech, even if it _was_ currently faulty. Right about now he’s regretting not just leaving it back at the safehouse altogether -- since yesterday he had been lugging it around mostly just in case he needed an emergency backup explosive, but now he has Roy for that.

 

Right on cue, Roy appears around the other side of the container holding his bow at the ready without so much as a whisper of sound. Jason can't quite make out which arrow the archer has settled onto the string, but he’d gamble on it being something loud and destructive -- those tend to be a personal favorite of Roy’s.

 

The archer tilts his head towards the left, and Jason returns a small nod. They can clear the room faster if they each take a side to search, and it would be easy enough to signal if one of them finds something.

 

Which isn't looking very likely, honestly. It’s eerily quiet aside from the buzzing of the overhead lights. Things are strewn around as though somebody left in a hurry, and Jason suspects he and Roy are the only ones left in the building.

 

A tiny flash of color catches Jason’s eye as he scans the room, and it takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at. The camera that he noted earlier still hangs upside-down, dangling from its wires, but from this angle he can see the slow blink of the red light beside the innocent looking lens. They’re being watched.

 

Opening his mouth to call a warning, Jason turns just in time to see the crate right beside Roy explode.

 

Jason’s stomach does a sickening flip as Roy slams to the ground, and he’s moving before the man’s head even hits the unforgiving concrete with a _crack!_ that seems to echo through the building.

 

The distance between them suddenly feels like miles, dread pulsing through his veins with every beat of his heart, get up, get up, _get up_.

 

There are a few agonizing seconds before Roy finally jerks, gasping for the air that’s been driven out of his lungs, and it’s then that Jason notices the smoke. A thick, green fog is pouring from the remnants of the crate, curling around where the archer has managed to roll over and lean on his elbows to cough heavily, and nearly cloaks him from sight.

 

Jason’s nearly reached him when Roy gasps out a “Wait--!”, meeting his eyes with a sudden intensity despite how sickly pale his skin has become.

 

“Filter -- put your helmet--”

 

Jason’s next breath brings with it a wave of dizziness and the distinct feeling of not having quite enough oxygen to fill his lungs. _Fuck_. Whatever this gas is, Roy’s already inhaled way more than he has -- and isn't looking good.

 

He crams the helmet over his head and hears the quiet hiss of the seal closing. The left lens distorts in a burst of static while the room tilts around him, the combination making him stumble a bit as he crouches next to his partner.

 

Roy’s eyes are rapidly losing focus, and he’s still breathing hard while he barely holds himself up. Blood has dyed the back of his head an even more vivid shade of red and is oozing down to soak into the fabric of his shirt. Red on red on red. How many times has Roy made that stupid joke about wearing red so they can’t see you bleed?

 

Jason can see it just fine.

 

“Come on man, I think that’s our cue that we’re not exactly welcome.” He attempts lightheartedness, but the voice modulator turns it flat. He grabs one of Roy’s arms and slings it over his own shoulder, lifting him up with a grunt of effort. Black creeps from the edges of his vision in a way that has nothing to do with his faulty lenses. The helmet’s airtight seal is doing its job of keeping the fog out, but the bit that he breathed in before is slowly taking effect.

 

Jason’s heart sinks when he takes in the rest of the warehouse. Green fog creeps between crates in every direction, and any hope that he had of this being some freak accident fades. This was a trap, and with Roy all but hanging from his shoulder and his own limbs beginning to rebel, they’re caught right in the middle of it.

 

This is fine. He just has to drag them both out of here into clean air. Hope that whatever this is isn’t killing Roy. Killing _both_ of them. He can hunt down whatever bastard is behind that camera some other day. As long as he keeps moving, they’ll be fine. Roy will be fine.

 

The little bit of weight his partner had been supporting for himself suddenly jerks at his shoulder, Jason staggering as Roy goes completely limp. His lenses flicker out again at the same moment, and his shin slams into an unseen crate, sending them both crashing to the ground with a spit curse from Jason.

 

Everything feels too heavy, too foggy. He tries to push himself up but only succeeds in flexing his fingers. Is Roy still breathing? Is _he_ still breathing? He’s not really sure anymore.

 

It takes an eternity to drag his hand across the floor, fingers fumbling to activate the comm and patch into the one channel he usually avoids at all costs. At least _that_ still works, he thinks bitterly.

 

The line is fairly quiet, only the rush of wind and distant sirens echoing in his ear. Forming actual words feels like too enormous a task for his tired brain, so Jason just fumbles around some more until he activates the emergency beacon.

 

God, Dick is going to hold this one over him _forever_.

 

A voice comes over the comm, words sounding vaguely urgent, but everything feels like it’s underwater, and it’s easy to slip into those quiet depths.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Being honest, Jason had kind of hoped he would wake up in the medical wing of the Cave. Sure, he’d have to endure facing Dick hovering after needing his ass saved, and probably a lecture from Bruce, but at least he and Roy could hightail it out of there before things got _too_ smothering...

 

Instead he’s jerked unpleasantly into consciousness by a blast of frigid water that he immediately coughs back out of his lungs. A wet blindfold clings to his face, stinging his eyes when he tries blinking them open and making the fabric stick to his skin. He’s strung up from some ceiling, cold metal biting into his wrists as his full weight pulls down on them. If he strains, he can get his feet to brush against the ground, but it gains him no leverage and the movement makes his shoulders _burn_. If he swings his leg back far enough, maybe he can find a wall and --

 

“Ah-ah, settle down now, it would be a real _shame_ if I had to cut our playtime short.”

 

A slow horror claws its way up his throat at that voice. No. This is just another fucked-up nightmare from his fucked-up brain, right? The stress of the situation projecting his fears and making him hear _his_ voice?

  


Somewhere to his left, a nozzle squeaks and the sound of splattering water dies down to a faint drip. The heel of a shoe clicks against the floor -- _he knows those shoes, bastard never changes, every detail of them branded into the memory of a cold warehouse floor and the world tilted sideways and the shoes flecked with his own blood and painpainpain --_ and the rhythm keeps in tandem with the water.

 

_Drip._

 

_Step._

 

_Drip._

 

_Step._

 

_Drip._

 

Jason is powerless to stop the flinch as cold fingers dig into his jaw, twisting his head to the side.

 

“They grow up so fast, don't they…” the voice croons, and he smells the sourness as breath washes over his face. “One day you're snapping their tiny bones under your foot, the next you're -- well, I guess things haven't changed that much after all, have they?”

 

He shoves his fear into a corner, tells it to shut the hell up and stay down, and lets his anger take over. His teeth snap around empty air, but it does the job of making those fingers retreat quickly. “It's going to take a whole lot more to break me now than it did when I was _fifteen_ , clown,” he snarls.

 

The gleeful laugh comes from his right this time. “Oh, I certainly hope so, or this would be no fun at all!”

 

Cold metal collides with his side. Something _snaps_ and the stretch of his torso makes it nearly agonizing. Gritting his teeth, Jason lets out a slow breath through his nose and shuts out the pain. “A crowbar, how original. Never heard of _that_ one before. You seriously need to get some new material. This bit’s getting old.”

 

There’s the sound of something scuffing across the ground, and a chuckle from directly in front of him. “Gotta stick to the classics, kid. But don't worry, I’ve got plenty of new tricks in my _arsenal_.”

 

The next blow cracks across his jaw, but Jason barely feels it.

 

God, fuck, _Roy_. He was so swept away in his own blind panic when he woke up that he hadn't even realized… He can take whatever this sick fuck throws at him, he's been through this all before, but the thought of Roy getting caught up in this monster’s twisted games sends a wild panic through him.

 

“Oh yes, speaking of arsenals,” the Joker continues on, snapping his fingers as if he just remembered something important. “I'll admit it pushed my buttons a teeny bit that arrow boy was interfering with our quality time, he was supposed to be scurrying around chasing Harley for a few more days. I don't like it when people try to steal my show, you know, it makes me just want to _kill somebody_ .” The crowbar collides violently with the wall behind him and clatters to the floor with an echoing ring. “Lucky for me, it's so _easy_ to put a bullet in somebody's brain when they're not all conscious and squirming around.”

 

He feels like his grapple just slipped and he’s free-falling thirty stories with nothing to embrace him at the bottom but an unforgiving pavement - just another bloodstain in a city that knows nothing else.

 

He can't breathe.

 

Something in Jason’s mind snaps, and the burning acid green of the Pit that always lurks in the corners of his consciousness crashes through him. He doesn't even try to stop it from consuming him, letting it spit venom as he thrashes wildly against his chains. “You mother _fucker_ , I'm going to kill you, I'm going to peel your skin off piece-by-piece until you fucking _beg_ me to end your miserable life, you sick piece of--”

 

Something shoves into Jason’s mouth and slices into his cheeks, turning his snarl into a sharp cry of pain. He jerks his head back in an attempt to lessen the pressure biting into the corners of his mouth, but it's pulled tight and secured around his head. He thrashes some more, willing the chains around his hands to slip or break or _anything_ as his churning mind recognizes his makeshift gag as a length of barbed wire.

 

“My my, you've got quite a mouth on you, didn't old Batsy ever teach you manners?”

 

The voice sounds distant, drowned beneath the one screaming in his mind that Roy is _gone_. This monster ripped Jason's life away all those years ago, and now he's done it again. Even though there’s still air in his lungs -- even though his heart is still beating -- there's no life left for Jason to return to if Roy Harper isn't there to pull him back on his feet.

 

But that doesn't mean he's not going to do everything he can tonight to tear the Joker down with him. This son of a bitch isn’t taking him out without one hell of a fight.

 

Jason’s thoughts are interrupted by a cold blade pressed to the back of his neck, pressure just enough to make itself known without breaking through skin.

 

“I thought quite a bit about what to do for tonight’s show, you know. Even had a dress rehearsal and everything, though I’m hoping you take much longer to break than that poor chap did, it’s no fun when they die before you get to the best parts. But…” The knife changes angle, slips under the collar of his suit and starts slicing through it. “You just gave me a brilliant idea that I simply _must_ try out.”

 

The knife continues its path downwards, sawing away at the material until the length of his back is completely exposed. It returns to his upper back, pressing flat between his shoulder blades and prompting an involuntary shiver.

“Now, I’ve never done this before, so hold still -- this will be a learning experience for both of us.”

 

The knife drags downwards, pain searing down his spine. Jason tries in vain to jerk away from the blade, but with no leverage all he can do is thrash in his chains. Bile rises in his throat as the words, “ _I’m going to peel your skin off piece-by-piece”_ playback mockingly in his mind in his own voice. The slicing pauses, giving Jason a brief second to gasp in a breath.

 

And then there’s a wet, ripping sound accompanied by _fire_ down his back.

 

Jason screams.

 

He can’t see what’s happening, but he can imagine it looks something like peeling a flap of skin from a potato but then ripping it the rest of the way off. Hysteria bubbles up in his throat. He draws in a shuddering breath, and his reeling senses register a groan he didn’t even think he had the breath for. It takes several long seconds for his brain to put together that he _didn’t_ have the breath, and that the sound came from somewhere in front of him.

 

The Joker ‘tsk’s from behind and shoulders past him, forcing Jason to bite down hard to keep a cry from escaping. “Always spoiling the fun and trying to steal the show right as it begins, aren’t you?” The Joker complains.

 

Sudden light blinds him and he recoils away as the blindfold is abruptly ripped away. Jason blinks as his eyes take their time adjusting, finally focusing on the face in front of him. The grin stretches out like a red gash on colorless skin, and the Joker’s foul breath returns as his voice turns gleeful. “No matter, you’re about to become the main event anyway!” The words don’t make any sense to him until the clown steps aside.

 

Jason doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he sees Roy.

 

His lover is in a chair facing him, tied to it and gagged with the same barbed wire that’s digging into his own flesh, and is thankfully, _blessedly,_ alive. Matted, bloody hair hangs in front of his dazed-looking eyes, and Jason can clearly see the emotions as they play across his features - confusion, recognition, shock, and finally settling on cold fear. Jason knows the picture he must paint, soaked and bloody and unable to keep his shoulders trembling from the searing pain down his back, razor wire creating a grotesque mirror of the Joker’s own wide grin.

 

The spark of relief at seeing Roy alive is quick to die out in the wake of the reality of the situation - they may be alive, but they are both completely at this madman’s mercy.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written outside of RPing in about 7 years so (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ Take part 1 while I write part 2.


End file.
